


Always

by AZ-5 (elim_garak)



Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M, I was feeling this shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24683284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elim_garak/pseuds/AZ-5
Summary: “Do you love him?”She wraps whatever she’s wearing tighter around her. “He’s a good man.”She can’t see his face but in her mind’s eye she knows exactly what it looks like in this moment.“Really, Carrie? Really? A‘good man’?He’s a fucking enemy combatant responsible for countless deaths on your side.”“We’re all enemy combatants to someone.”“So that’s a no, then.”“That’s a none-of-your-fucking-business.”
Relationships: Carrie Mathison/Peter Quinn, Carrie Mathison/Yevgeny Gromov
Comments: 27
Kudos: 53





	Always

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sh_ua](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sh_ua/gifts), [Florencia_7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Florencia_7/gifts).



It’s always the same conversation they have.

There are small variations. Sometimes, they’re in the living room, she - on the couch, he - by the window, staring out. Other times - on the terrace, out in the cold, she’s just past the glass door, he - by the railing, several feet away, hands in his pockets, eyes lost in the middle distance where the night gleams. Sometimes his hair is cropped short, sometimes unruly and spiky, others - overgrown and unkept. Sometimes he’s wearing a t-shirt and a grey army jacket, sometimes - an over-sized hoodie, others - different colors of button-down shirt.

But it’s always the same conversation. And it never starts face to face.

“You ok?” he asks.

And that’s how she knows. Always.

“I’m fine,” she says with growing unease.

“Fine,” he repeats with a hint of mocking derision.

“Yes. _Fine._ You got a problem with _‘fine’?”_

“Fine. But not happy.”

“I’m not _un-_ happy.” His lack of reply tips her over the edge. “What’s it to you, anyway?”

He huffs a cheerless snort. “Nothing.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

She starts feeling cold, shivering. Always. “What do you want?”

“Does he know?” he asks, ignoring her question.

“I don’t think so.”

“But you’re not sure.”

“I am. I am sure.”

“What if he does?”

“He doesn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“I _know.”_

“He’s good.”

“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence. But, in case you forgot, so am I.”

“What if he’s better?”

Always, she makes no reply.

“Do you know what he’ll do to you when he finds out?”

She has a pretty good idea. 

“If,” she hisses. _“If_ he finds out. And I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.”

 _“When_ you get there?”

“Fuck _you.”_

He sneers. “Thought so.”

“What do you want?” she demands, again.

And, again, he ignores her. “Do you really think he’ll forgive you?”

It’s always the same answer. “For betraying his trust? Maybe. For hurting his country… pfft.” _Never._

Always, there’s a stretch of silence that follows. 

“Do you love him?”

She wraps whatever she’s wearing tighter around her. “He’s a good man.”

She can’t see his face but in her mind’s eye she knows exactly what it looks like in this moment.

“Really, Carrie? Really? A _‘good man’?_ He’s a fucking enemy combatant responsible for countless deaths on your side.”

“We’re all enemy combatants to someone.”

“So that’s a no, then.”

“That’s a none-of-your-fucking-business.”

More silence. Always.

“I would’ve killed him,” he rasps. “For what he did to you. I would’ve fucking tore out his gut with my bare hands and fed it to him.”

She doesn’t doubt _that._

“Well. You _didn’t._ So…”

“And whose fault is that?”

It’s then when he turns to face her. Except that he _has_ no face. No _one_ face. Above where his neck ends there’s nothing, a black, bottomless pit with more faces and eyes staring back at her than she cares to remember.

She awakes with a jolt, in the dark. 

Always. 

Always panting, flat on her back, hands twisting a fistful of bedsheets. 

He's always there, already awake, already reaching around her.

"Shhhhhhh," he whispers into a warm, sleepy kiss on her sweat-beading temple. Always, "Shhhhhh," and something soothing in Russian.

Always, for a while she cant move, can't talk, can't breathe even. 

And always he waits, entangled around her, onto her, through her. 

Always… he waits.

"I'm sorry," she always whispers, at last, on a shuddered breath. 

And when he whispers "I know" , wrapping more of him around more of her than is humanly possible, always she thinks...

... _but you don't._


End file.
